Noticing Her
by realized
Summary: G/Hr. Observing her, favorite past time. Why? The way she feels about the scent of a book, the pattern, the way she bites her quill. The way she makes me feel.


**Noticing her**

She's sitting there again. Her usual spot in the library. Chewing the quill I almost envy. She's like ten feet away - but so far away, in a totally different world? Sitting there in the corner, just where the final shelf meets the wall. She says it calms her, knowing the at least the walls in Hogwarts are solid, and the way the books in the end smells. Old and somehow untouched. I'm not sure I get it, and I don't pretend to. She loves the way you can tell a book is old, the musty, dusty smell and feeling to it. Every time she turns a page, it blows a little scent up to her.

We talked about it over and over. She likes the smell of the old books. I, on the other hand, enjoy new books. They smell of new and freshly made copies. I like them best untouched. Maybe because I've always had to share and take hand-me-downs.

It's funny, or, I see it that way at least. She sits quietly chewing the quill, reading a book as fat as her cat, you can tell just by looking at her, how she's already looking forward to turning the page, the smell, the feeling and what comes next.

I'm still at my space, reading the same book I assume, as I've been reading the last few months. I haven't really looked in it, just at her. I'm pretty sure she can't see me. At least she hasn't yet. Which makes it so much easier to just observe her.

When she finally decides to take a brake, (I'm still not sure if it's to prolong the book, even if it is just for a little while?) she takes the bottle of water she's sneaked in, holds it as if she was talking to a dear friend, holding around it with both hands, as if it warmed her hands, looking into empty air, but not in a blank stare sort of way. More, dazed? and grinning into thin air. Then, she'll regain her composure, as if shushing herself, and getting down to work again.

She keeps spinning her hair in her fingers. It's still not the least bit tame. It's as wild as she is. Even if it's only a small amount of people how knows it.

I know her. I mean, I talk to her everyday, hours on end. Maybe that's why I've become so interested in her? I know all sorts of things about her. Why she has such a passion to help. How she got that scar on her knee. How she remains her composure in all situations, why she has the perfect amount of selfesteem when all others doubt their appearance. She says it's not that important how she looks. But how she treats others, because that will be remembered. Said it would suck to be remembered for good looks and a mashed potatoes brain. It's not like she knows she's good looking. In fact I'm pretty sure she thinks of herself as below average. I mean, I've seen her trying to look good, and smoothing out her shirt. It's not like she doesn't care. It's just that it doesn't bother her as much as it does others. I think that's one of the reasons I'm so attracted to her.

She's not the girl with a lot of friends as I am. She's shy if you don't know her. She's not outgoing or even the one that makes up the games of all the fun. She not the center. Even though I am, always ready with a joke, or spur of the moment stupidity. I know that she is _fun. Outgoing. Wild._

My friends always needs to know where I am. That's why I love her, for having an affair with books. Nobody would ever look for me _here_. Notice me noticing her. I guess I'd _looked_ at girls before. Found them attractive. But it wasn't like there was this urge to rush over and kiss them. But there is now. I feel I could look at her forever. Really _looking_. _Noticing_. _Observing_. When we're alone in her room, I _feel_like kissing her. Take her by surprise, just that _one_ kiss to tell her.

I've found, that she's good at looking at facts. Deciding what would be right in the battlefield of grays. When it comes to feelings though, she sometimes lack knowing the right time and place.

I decide that will do in the days ration of drooling and pining for her. Lack up my things and shuffle it into the bag, not really caring for the orderly fashion it was put in when I got here.

As I walk away, I can't just walk away. I can't not say hello. Can't just let her slip my grip. Can't leave her alone, even if she never knew she wasn't.

I walk behind a shelf as if looking for a book, pretend I've just seen her, and light up in a smile as she looks up, and sees me. "Hermione! You again? I thought I told you to stop vandalizing this place?" She smiles at me knowingly, "I know, but this is the only place my spray paint works properly?" I grin, not so mush at what she said, but more that she enjoyed our intimate jokes, liked playing along with me. "Come, sit!" She urges, gesturing to the spot opposite her. I nod, feeling my knees giving into her instead of to me. "Sure I'm not bothering you?" I ask, even though I'm almost at the table. Her eyebrows raised, she asks "Would I ask you to sit, if you were?". Now it's my turn to raise an eyebrow. "Well, maybe I would, but you're always a good reason to take a brake. Or even to ditch this place." She's smirking, closing the book laying it in it's the stack of mates.

After teasing her a bit for reading 'Gnomes: Friend or Foe?'(Foe, naturally.) She stops laughing. Looks at me, and smiles. Not an ordinary one, but that knowing, generous smile of hers. Touching my left cheek, and out of the blue, she says "You know? You're really beautiful with a tan. I love the freckle over you lip and the one under your eye." She points, showing excatly to where she means.

It's a bit peculiar how all people thinks I'm oh, so pale. Forgetting that I'm a read head, meaning I'm not getting all that brown. Just a little read. But she notices. And she notices the smallest freckles, the ones that only shows after days in the sun?


End file.
